I suspect it happens to all of us. To me, of course. Today. Again. It is a torment to cry for the friend and long for the teacher. The same question scratching the never-stalled soul. What would Gistau have written? He had material to chisel one of those columns of his with sarcasm, substance, and an accurate shot. Two rival twinned headers, honoring his legacy, custodians in unison of what the trade was with him and should never stop being so. And one imagining it in a corner, with curious eyes, injected in ink, listening to the sarao like the doctor to the patient. Yes, there always, where the news boils big or small.
Those who know say that grief is a matter of learning to tame feelings, Let the good memories, the celebrated texts, the laughter, the drinks, the book that advised you, the little battles of letter-writing ruin the pain. Yeah, that’s what those who know say. But also, I no longer know if they really know, that for a time, how long? It is not good to take refuge in the memory placebo. Yeah, so they say. What they do not know is that David’s relatives are many more than we had the fortune to know him. They are the ones who enjoyed, authentic legion, reading his chronicles and columns in the newspapers from which he dictated his never sought teaching. You see David in the streets of that deserted Madrid and mute by the pandemic; close to the ring where they fight Tyson and Roy Jones; crouched in the mockery of Congress, attentive to so many duelists with a senseless cawing; wandering among flags and saucepans, gazing up at the balconies; walk from ICU surpassed; in stadiums, barren temples, orphans of parishioners and, of course, kicking Argentina out of place because Maradona has died. That is what it has to deal with his absence, that there will be no more “Now I read you”.
This award should not be primarily a tribute to David, who in life was always allergic to offerings. What a blunder if you just stay there. He would not forgive us. No pulpits, hand kissers or clapping hands. Nobody’s courtiers, subjects only of the word typed with ingenuity and honesty. Journalists who come, see and tell.
With Alberto Olmos as a deserved winner, he started a herculean task, when ours is a job exhausted by the crisis that is tearing us apart. Must be preserved David’s legacy, cling to it like castaways to a tree every time we falter. From today and forever, this award will honor good journalismor. On behalf of David Gistau. To follow suit. I can’t think of a more beautiful mission or a fairer way to celebrate who it was the best of ours.